_Fr._ My Lady keepes a court then, is Sir _Thomas_ Affected with this state and cost. _Ste._ He was not, But is converted, and I hope you wo'not Persist in heresie, but take a course Of riot to content your friends, you shall Want nothing, if you can be proud and spend it For my Ladies honour, here are a hundred Peeces, will serve you till you have new clothes, I will present you with a nag of mine Poore tender of my service please you accept, My Ladies smile more than rewards me for it, I must provide fit servants to attend you, Monsieures for horse and foote. _Fr._ I shall submit If this be my Aunts pleasure and be ruld, My eyes are open'd with this purse already, And Sacke will helpe to inspire me, I must spend it. _St._, What else sir? _Fr._ Ile begin with you, to incourage You, to have still a speciall care of me, There is five peeces, not for your nag. _St._ No sir, I hope it is not. _Fr._ Buy a Beaver For thy owne blocke, I shall be ruld, who does Command the wineseller? _St._ Who command but you sir? _Fr._ Ile try to drinke a health or two, my Aunts Or any bodies, and if that foundation Stagger me not too much, I will commence In all the arts of London. _St._ If you finde sir The operation of the wine, exalt Your bloud to the desire of any femall Delight, I know your Aunt wonot deny Any of her chambermaides to practise on, She loves you but too well. _Fr._ I know not how I may be for that exercise, farewell _Aristotle_, Prethee commend me to the Library At Westminster, my bones I bequeath thither, And to the learned wormes that meane to visit 'em, I will compose my selfe, I beginne to thinke I have lost time indeed, come to the wineseller. _Exit._ _Enter Celestina, Mardana, Isabella._ _Ma._ But shall we not Madam expose our selves To censure for this freedome. _Cel._ Let them answer That dare mistake us, shall we be so much Cowards to be frighted from our pleasure, Because men have malitious tongues, and shew What miserable soules they have, no cozen, We hold our life and fortunes, upon no Mans charitie, if they dare shew so little Discretion to traduce our fames, we will Be guilty of so much wit to laugh at em. _Is._ Tis a becomming fortitude. _Cel._ My starres Are yet kinde to me, for in a happy minute Be't spoke, I'me not in love, and men shall never Make my heart leane with sighing, nor with teares Draw on my eyes the infamie of spectacles, Tis the chiefe principle to keepe your heart Vnder your owne obedience, jeast, but love not, I say my prayers yet, can weare good clothes, And onely satisfie my tailor for em. I wonot lose my priviledge. _Ma._ And yet they say your entertainments are, Give me your pardon Madam, to proclaime Your selfe a widow, and to get a husband.